


Misplaced

by micehell



Category: Velvet Goldmine
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-21
Updated: 2007-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-12 00:57:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/484838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micehell/pseuds/micehell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Curt said, "I must have missed you when you came back.  After all, you said you were just going down to get some coffee, and that was two days ago, so it's easy to see how it could have happened."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Misplaced

Arthur didn't want to answer the door when he heard the knock, knowing who would be on the other side. He wasn't ready yet. Wasn't sure he'd ever be.

But if he didn't answer, Curt was liable to do something embarrassing -- like the time he'd belted out his own version of _Louis, Louis_ , with lyrics that set to shame even the ribald version that Arthur had heard when he was a teen, or the time when he'd told the super that Arthur had sent him to the store for ice cream and pickles and that Curt had forgot his key before he'd left -- so he opened the door, taking in Curt's appearance like a stab to his heart.

Curt just smiled at him, as much as he was able to anyway, with the split lip. He said, "I must have missed you when you came back. After all, you said you were just going down to get some coffee, and that was two days ago, so it's easy to see how it could have happened."

As if Arthur needed more guilt on top of the load he was already drowning in. He wanted to say he was sorry, that he hadn't meant to leave, but of course he had. He hadn't been able to stay in that hospital, to look at Curt, as pale as the hospital sheets except for where the bruises and blood were staining his skin. And he hadn't been able to stop thinking that the scar that Curt was going to carry high on his right arm, like a tattoo of violence, was Arthur's mark on him. A sign of his possession.

Some part of him told him he wasn't being logical, that if he just thought this over, he'd see that things weren't as bad as he thought. But it wasn't the part that had led him out of the hospital, to hole up in his apartment for days, waiting for the fallout.

And so he waited even now, to hear what Curt had to say to him. He figured it would be scathing, that lethal sarcasm wielded like a weapon as he laid Arthur's mistakes open to him. _What kind of idiot kisses a guy in public in Queens, no matter how dark the night?_ And _I know you're on a new kick to come out more, to take control of your life and stop hiding, but do you think you could keep me out of your little dramas, so that I don't wind up getting the shit kicked out of me by two Neo-Nazis just because you've decided to push the limit?_

He was ready for it all, ready to accept anything Curt could dish out, almost hoping that it would be tit for tat, bruise for bruise, so that at least the guilt would fade in the pain. That's why he wasn't ready when Curt kissed him, hard and deep, slipping his tongue past Arthur's surprise. He tried to pull back, not wanting comfort, not wanting love, only expiation, but Curt wouldn't let him go, all the violence that Arthur had wanted coming only in a tight embrace, in a kiss that wouldn't end, even when he tasted Curt's blood weeping from the split in his lip, from the force of the kiss.

And while Arthur might have wanted the pain, still might think he needed it, he couldn't resist Curt even on his worst of days. So he let himself be led by strong hands and soft touches back to his bed. Let himself be stripped and held, let Curt sink down on him, a quick hiss at the penetration the only sound besides Arthur's uneven breathing, the sob he couldn't quite hold back. But Curt leaned over him, stretching like a cat to curve around Arthur even while he rocked against him, and it must have been a difficult position to hold, it must have been a strain, but Arthur took the comfort offered without question, letting love and desire wash through him, over him, like the semen that coated his chest, that spilled into Curt, like the tears that Curt kissed away. 

Later, he lay in his bed, in _their_ bed, wondering what he'd been thinking these last couple of days. He'd left Curt alone when he'd been hurt, and all because of misplaced guilt. He rolled over, trying to see Curt in the dark room, only the white of the bandage really showing. He ran a light finger over it, trying to think how to apologize, but Curt only cuffed him on the back of his head, a small taste of the retribution he'd been seeking before. Curt's voice was soft and slurred, sleep already pulling at him, when he said, "Time for sleeping now, so shut up and let me do it." 

Arthur had had to learn, over the course of the months they'd been together, that Curt only said _I love you_ through touch, through action. His words were only a clue to smaller needs, like the sleep he never wanted interrupted, upon pain of thrown objects, including pillows, alarms, lamps, or anything else that he could get his hands on. It was familiar now, intimate, and Arthur let him be, his own way of returning the favor. He'd say it in words, eventually, the writer in him not letting him mirror Curt too much, but for now the shared bed, the intact trust, was enough, and Arthur slept, not dreaming of blood for the first time in days.


End file.
